


Take Control

by schneestern



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: Sometimes Hotch needs someone else to take control. Reid is just the guy for the job.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 18
Kudos: 113





	Take Control

There are moments, when Hotch has a hard time remembering that they _do_ solve cases and save lives. He’s standing in front of a board with photos of seven dead women, identical blood-red marks all over their bodies. He knows that there’s something here, something to unlock this case, but he keeps coming up empty.

They tacked small pieces of paper to the wall with unique identifiers and commonalities. All the women have small tattoos. They’re all brunettes. They’re all between the ages of 20 and 25. They all have older siblings. They all work as waitresses. They all live paycheck to paycheck. They all have friends, who swear they’re not risk takers.

Hotch thinks about all the women he’s ever met, who would fit this exact profile and yet he can’t figure out why the UnSub chooses these women.

Sometimes, he’ll turn away from a board, thoughts wandering and when he looks back at the board the answer is there, sharp and crystal clear. Or he’ll at least find a new angle to work.

Tonight, he keeps drawing a blank. 

He keeps rubbing the fingers of his left hand together, a nervous tick he picked up during law school. It’s a comforting movement and sometimes it helps him think. Already, there’s the slow pressure of an approaching headache in his right eye and he can feel the tiredness deep in his bones.

He shifts his weight, looks at the pictures of the corpses, one after the other. 

“What was it that caught his eye?” he murmurs to himself. “Why did he choose you?”

Hotch has been in this job long enough that eventually they always find a new angle. No matter how small. It’s just something about the way these women are posed that softly rattles around in the back of his mind. Something about their faces--

“--Hotch!”

He blinks, blinks again and turns. 

Reid is standing there, looking at him, equal parts amused and concerned. 

“Sorry, what?” Hotch says.

“I’ve said your name like three times, Hotch. Why are you still here?” Reid has his arms crossed over his chest. His tie is loose around his neck, shirt rumpled. His hair is all over the place and he looks as tired as Hotch feels.

“You’re still here, too,” Hotch points out, his gaze trailing to the board, then back to Reid.

“Yeah, but I’m a genius who doesn’t sleep and you should have been at the hotel hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” and Hotch doesn’t mean to snap, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

Reid blinks. Then he uncrosses his arms and steps up to Hotch, right into his space. It’s disconcerting enough that Hotch defensively crosses his arms in turn.

“Did you eat?” 

It’s not the question Hotch expected. “No. There wasn’t time.”

Reid looks at him. He’s standing in front of Hotch comfortably, so close Hotch can almost feel his breath on his face. And yet it feels like Reid is taller than him, blocking him, demanding his full attention. Hotch feels like Reid can see _everything_ about him. 

It makes Hotch feel strangely exposed.

“Alright, here’s what you will do.” Reid’s voice is completely neutral, but there’s a commanding tone to it that Hotch has never heard before. “I’ll order us food. We will eat. Then I’ll let you talk to me about why this case bothers you so much for about thirty minutes. After that we’ll drive to the hotel. You will take a hot shower and then you will get some sleep.”

Hotch opens his mouth to drily remind Reid that it is in fact Hotch who is the boss here.

Instead he says, “Alright, Spencer.”

Reid nods and turns away, already dialling for takeout. From one moment to the next, he’s out of Hotch’s space and shifts right back to his usual self. Like nothing happened.

Hotch turns back to the board. He rubs at his right eye, but the tension there seems to have dissolved. He feels--calmer. 

Reid orders them lo mein with extra chicken for Hotch and extra spring rolls for Reid. He listens as Hotch talks about the case, intent gaze on Hotch the whole time, pointing out new ways to look at the evidence. 

After exactly half an hour, Hotch stops and gathers his things. Reid looks at his wristwatch and gives Hotch a small smile. “Right on time,” he says and Hotch feels oddly proud. 

It’s a curious feeling he chooses to ignore.

Later, alone in the shower in his hotel room, Hotch turns it to the hottest setting he can take. The warmth washes away the rest of his tension headache and his mind wanders, goes back to Reid.

That tone of voice he used that bypassed the jumble in his mind and cleared a path. The way he looked at and right through Hotch. His praise when Hotch stuck to the allotted time.

When Hotch lies down in his small hotel room bed that night, he’s sure the case will keep him up.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

+++

“Hotch! He’s getting away!” Reid’s already running to their SUV, parked by the side of the road.

“I can see that, Reid,” Hotch presses out, voice tight, right behind Reid. He’s tugging his gun away as he’s running and fumbling for the car keys all at the same time.

He reaches the car before Reid does and slides in on the driver’s side.

Reid’s barely inside, when Hotch pulls the car sharply out into the street, keeping the UnSub in the getaway car in his sight.

Hotch speeds up, sharply cutting around street corners. His mind’s on the UnSub. They can’t let him get away. He has seen them now. If he escapes, they won’t be able to find him again. He’s shown a preternatural knack for anticipating their next steps and Hotch _needs_ to get him now or they’ll have to work twice as hard to catch up and they’re already stretched well beyond their capacity. 

“Hotch,” Reid grabs his upper arm, hard, fingers digging into Hotch’s shirt, the muscles beneath. The pain is immediate like an ice cold bucket of water.

“Turn left up there, then immediately right,” Reid’s voice is calm and soft, stark contrast to the way he keeps gripping Hotch’s arm. “It’s a shortcut, we’ll catch up to him a little further up the road.”

Hotch whips the car around, follows Reid’s directions without thinking twice about it.

Reid keeps holding on to his arm, squeezing, his hand sweating slightly.

But he’s right. 

They cut off the UnSub, corner him and Hotch gets him to surrender. They cuff him, throw him into the back of the car.

Later, a lot later, when Hotch is alone and changes out of his FBI vest, slips off his shirt, he’s surprised to find only small bruises on his upper arm. 

He’s almost disappointed that they’re already fading.

+++

Hotch is staring at his phone. Sees his reflection in the display, flips it, stares at the back of the case. Flips it back again.

The air in the jet feels too warm and he runs a finger along his throat, where his tie rubs against the sensitive skin there.

He puts his phone on the table. Turns it face up, flips it over. Then he looks out the plane window, into the darkness and the few sparkling lights of the city below.

“You alright, Hotch?”

He looks over at Reid sitting opposite him, leaning back in his seat. “Yes, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” There’s that voice again and Hotch finds he can’t look away.

He really doesn’t want to talk about it, but something about the way Reid looks at him, absolutely sure he will get an answer from Hotch, weakens his resolve.

“When we took off from St. Louis it was already twenty past ten.” Hotch looks at his phone. Flips it, display up, flips it over, display down.

“You missed Jack’s bedtime,” Reid says in that voice, neutral but warm, all emotions carefully held back.

“Yeah,” Hotch says. “It’s okay. He knows that sometimes, ah, work gets in the way.”

“Still.” Reid leans forward and grabs Hotch’s wrist. Squeezes it, just a little too hard, warm pressure against the muscles and bones there. Somehow it’s still a comforting gesture.

Aaron can feel the soft skin of Spencer’s hand on his. Spencer is looking at him, gaze steady. Aaron wants to pull his hand away, but something about the way Reid is looking at him makes him stay still.

He takes a breath in, feels the tie move against his neck, the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders. He breathes out and feels _lighter_. Maybe he’ll get Jessica to facetime him, at least he’ll see a sleeping Jack that way.

Reid lets go of his wrist.

“You want to play some cards?” Aaron hears himself ask.

There’s a faint hint of a smile on Reid’s lips. Then something in the way he holds himself shifts and he’s just Reid again, easy nod, “Sure, Hotch.”

Hotch takes out the deck of cards, slides his phone to the side and shuffles.

+++

Hotch sits at the back of the ambulance, balanced on the steps. The medic’s cleaning the cut above his eye before he puts a bandage on it.

Aaron’s tired. He feels like the day had at least sixty hours. He can’t wait to take his vest off. Get out of here.

They did good. They saved the victim. Just in time.

In his head, he’s already calculating: How fast they’ll be able to get back to the plane, how much paperwork he can get done on the jet, when he’ll be home, what food is still edible in the fridge and ready for a late night meal, how much sleep he can get before he has to be up again in the morning.

“How’s it going over here?”

Reid appears next to the ambulance, hands easily tucked in his pants. He’s at an angle so he’s blocking the lights from the cop cars still surrounding the scene, constant blinking of lights suddenly gone from Hotch’s peripheral vision.

“He’ll be fine,” the medic answers before Hotch can. “I taped the wound. If you leave it on, Agent Hotchner, you won’t need stitches.”

Hotch nods just as Spencer says, “Thank you.” 

The medic looks up at Spencer, then back at Hotch. “Uh,” he says and then gets up and disappears around the side of the ambulance.

“Morgan and Rossi are already wrapping up with the local police,” Reid says, steps closer. “JJ called ahead to the jet. I think we’ll be up in the air in about an hour and a half.” He puts his hand on Hotch’s shoulder, squeezes, thumb digging into the muscles there. Aaron twitches, but doesn’t pull away.

“What about--” he begins, but Reid interrupts him, “--the victim? They took her to the hospital, where someone will meet her and get everything in order.”

Hotch nods. 

Reid’s fingers are still pressing into the muscles in his shoulder, dull pain giving way to soft warmth. 

Hotch always ends up with this ache deep in his shoulder from holding his gun, but somehow Reid keeps finding just the spot, digging into the tight knot of muscles.

“Thank you for taking care of that,” Hotch finally says, voice quiet. And he is thankful. That leaves only the reports. If he works through the flight and doesn’t nap on the plane, he’s pretty sure they’ll be done by the time they land.

“You know,” Reid interrupts his train of thought. “You should probably sleep on the way back. You’ve been up since 5 a.m. this morning.”

Hotch wonders how Reid knows that, but his face is inscrutable, calm.

“I’ll be fine, Reid, and the reports need to be done by tomorrow.”

“Leave them.” There’s an edge to Reid’s voice, but still his face betrays nothing. His fingers dig into Hotch’s shoulder.

Hotch is about to protest. Something in the way Reid looks at him, hand now just a motionless, heavy weight on Hotch’s shoulder makes him soften.

“Alright.”

“Good,” Reid says and it makes something warm bloom in Aaron’s chest. It’s like approval and something else. He carefully shelves the thought for later, when he can unpack it.

Hotch gets up and for a moment the wound over his eye stings, then the feeling passes. He slowly peels off his vest, Reid’s eyes on him. He folds it, stares down at it.

“Meet you at the car in five?” Spencer says and Aaron nods.

Aaron loosens his tie, just a little. Rolls his shoulder and realizes the muscles there have loosened up.

He looks up and over at Reid’s retreating back.

+++

Hotch plops the files down on the jet’s table and slides into his seat. Across from him, Reid frowns. Aaron holds his hands up defensively, “I’m not doing them, okay?”

Reid doesn’t say anything.

Hotch meets his gaze. There’s that look again, the one he never consciously noticed until recently. Sure, even and meaningful.

Without saying anything else, Aaron stretches out on the two seats, folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes.

He has a hard time falling asleep, wonders what Reid sees when he looks at Aaron like that. It’s not that Hotch hasn’t noticed before. He has.

He rarely allows himself to think about the looks Spencer gives him more than just in passing. Usually, when he’s at the office late, mind too full to concentrate anymore.

Then he thinks about the way Reid carries himself, how he’s surprisingly strong underneath all those sweater vests, how he reigns his analytical mind in to meet the local police forces halfway.

And the way his hand felt on Hotch’s shoulder, the pain of his fingers digging into the cramped muscles there and how calm it had made Hotch feel at the same time, being pinned like that.

He falls asleep feeling Reid’s eyes on him. 

When he wakes up, it’s because the jet’s preparing to land. In the other seat Reid’s fast asleep. 

Aaron catches the file that’s about to slip from the top of the pile. He frowns. The order they’re in is different. When he opens the one in his hand, he sees Reid’s careful handwriting, detailing the arrest they just made.

Reid’s done all the paperwork. And all Aaron has to do now is head home, eat and then sleep for a long time.

He looks over at Reid, face slack from sleep. 

Aaron feels at ease for the first time since that morning.

+++

“No, Dave, we’ve been over this. It makes no sense, no matter which way you put the damn things up on the wall.”

“I just think it might help change our perspective a little, new insights and such?” Dave’s looking at him evenly and Hotch knows, _knows_ , he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help himself.

“Honestly, if you want to make a scrapbook out of the victim board feel absolutely free to do so,” he finally snaps and regrets the words immediately as they leave his mouth.

Rossi frowns at him, but doesn’t comment.

Aaron stands there for a moment longer, then turns to leave the briefing room and freezes.

Reid’s standing in the door. He looks at Aaron, slow and steady, but Hotch can’t take this right now. He brushes past him and walks to his office.

It takes everything in his willpower not to slam the office door, but instead close it like a normal person.

He sits heavily on the couch opposite his desk.

Hotch knows he’s being difficult for no reason today. It started right when he got up this morning and realized there was no coffee in the house. Jack picked up on his mood and was fuzzy about his breakfast and then slow to put on his shoes.

Aaron never yelled at his son, never, but today he’d come close.

After he’d dropped Jack at school, he’d been cut off twice on the way to the office and then spent most of his morning in budget meetings with infuriating pencil pushers, who kept trying to make him cut costs in an already streamlined budget.

Rossi rearranging the board from its usual system to a new one had just been the final straw.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair. He should just go home now, but there’s more than enough work waiting for him. He’ll be here at least another three hours.

A knock on the door interrupts his train of thought. Before he can say anything, the door opens and Reid slips in.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“I didn’t ask for your permission.” 

Aaron ignores that and frowns at Spencer.

Reid closes the door behind himself, walks to Aaron’s desk, casually leans against it, hands curls around the edge.

“Was there anything specific you needed, Reid?”

“Actually, I came here to ask if _you_ needed anything.”

Hotch doesn’t meet Spencer’s eyes. He takes a breath, another one. 

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Good. In that case, go apologize to Rossi.”

“What?!” Hotch is up before he can consciously think about it, but he gets two steps into the room, before he stops. What was he even about to do? For one wild moment he really wanted to push Reid, hard.

Reid just leans against his desk, unmoved by the outburst.

“You do realize that I am still your superior, Reid.”

“You are, but you’re not really acting like it right now. Plus, Rossi was right. He worked out a new angle for the case while you were in here. So, I suggest, we get started working on that.”

Hotch feels the anger slowly drain from him as Reid talks. His voice is calm and even and Hotch isn’t so stubborn that he doesn’t realize that Reid is right.

He stands there a moment longer, looking at Reid, wondering when he learned to read Hotch so well. When he became the person to keep him in check. And why it feels so natural to Hotch.

“Alright,” he sighs, “alright.” Hotch tugs his tie into place and turns to leave.

“And Hotch?”

“Hm?” 

“You should probably drink some water. You’ve had like half a coffee all day.”

Hotch turns back to Reid, who is giving him a small smile and Hotch frowns again.

Then he walks over to the briefing room to apologize to Dave, who claps him on the back and asks him why he’s being such a _moody diva_ today. Hotch ends up actually telling him, because it’s Dave and if anyone can understand it’s him.

After, Hotch grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and ignores the way Reid watches him from his desk with a half smirk on his face as Hotch drinks it down in one go.

+++

It’s late on a Friday evening, when Reid knocks on his open office door and invites himself in again before Hotch can say anything. 

He closes the door behind himself, even though they’re the last ones here, and sits on the couch.

Hotch looks at him expectantly.

“Can I tell you a story, Hotch?”

Hotch huffs out a small laugh, folds his hands on the table. “Be my guest, Reid.”

Reid leans back on the couch, one arm stretched out along the back. He’s trying to go for casual, but Aaron can tell he’s nervous about something.

Aaron gets up on an impulse, comes around the desk and walks over to Reid, sitting in the chair next to the couch.

Reid watches him go, his eyes never leaving Aaron. Once he’s seated, there’s a pocket of silence, where they just look at each other.

“Okay,” Reid says, “don’t get mad, but I feel like this is something we should talk about.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow.

“Now, I’ve known for most of my life that I like men and women.”

Aaron clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything.

“And I do have, ah, some preferences which are probably not that uncommon in our line of work, come to think of it. But I realized that we’ve--we seem to have stumbled into a sort of, well, dynamic, for lack of a better word, that we should. Well. Discuss.”

“What do you mean?” Aaron says, but some part of him already knows exactly where this is going.

Reid gives him a look. “You know what I mean, Hotch.”

Hotch looks down at his hands. He thinks about the last couple of weeks, months really. The way Reid always seems to know just when Hotch needs someone to take charge. The touches, the looks he gives him.

Maybe he had known that they were headed toward this conversation.

“You’re right, Spencer. Things have been--different. And I apologize. I’ll try to be more professional going forward.”

“Hotch, that’s not what I--”

“Reid, it’s fine. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Hotch can see the moment Reid capitulates. He deflates a little, but keeps his face carefully neutral. He gets up and stands there for a moment, looking down at Hotch.

Hotch feels heat crawl up the side of his neck, but he holds the gaze.

“Well. If you change your mind in the future, come find me.” Reid’s voice is even, but there is a tone there Hotch can’t quite place. It’s harsh but full of promise.

Aaron sits there long after Reid has gone. 

In his mind, he sees Reid and the way he’s been talking to Hotch, how sure he was then and just now. And if Aaron’s really honest with himself, he knows what’s been going on, he understands. 

But it’s not something he thinks he can ask of Reid.

+++

Family dinner is one of the newer traditions, but Hotch likes it nonetheless. They manage about once every few months, but when they do Rossi cooks for them and they drink and talk and steadfastly do not mention work.

It works most of the time, but even if they do lapse into shop talk, it’s usually about the people they save or the weird things they see out on cases all over the country.

Hotch likes hearing about the survivors Rossi stays in touch with, who he helped rescue. He likes hearing about JJ’s stories of scrappy journalists, who gave them the hint that led to solving a case. And he likes when Reid explains pop culture to them, even though they all know it better than him, but they still indulge him. 

It makes Hotch feel like his job isn’t the only thing that defines him.

Tonight, Garcia has suggested “Two truths, one lie” and maybe it’s the wine or the company or that Aaron feels relaxed like he hasn’t in a long time, that makes him agree to the game, even though he usually opts out of such things.

“I think the eleventh Doctor is hotter than the tenth. Emily and I have made out. And I cheated on one of my final FBI exams.” Garcia is laughing while she says it and it’s infectious, even Hotch has to smile.

Prentiss protests loudly at the same time as Morgan tries to figure out if the kissing part is true. 

Hotch’s eyes meet Reid’s across the table and they share a smile, slow and easy. Reid’s been distant the last couple of weeks, ever since their talk. Carefully avoiding getting too close to Hotch.

It was his own fault, but Hotch had still felt weirdly isolated because of it. This is a nice contrast, a little like a truce.

Emily eventually catches the lie, “Garcia would never cheat on anything!”, and then claps a hand over Morgan’s mouth just as he demands to know how this supposed kiss happened and where he was that day.

Garcia turns to Hotch, still laughing and says, “Your turn, boss!”

Hotch clears his throat, puts on his best poker face, “I also cheated, but only on my FBI sports test. I once lost Jack in a mall for about fifteen minutes. And sometimes, I like to give up control, but I don’t want anyone to know that.” When he says the last one he looks straight at Reid, he can’t help himself. 

Reid meets his gaze and Aaron’s not sure, but there is the faintest of smiles on his lips and something else, a spark of understanding.

“You would never lose Jack,” Dave volunteers and gets loud agreement from JJ. 

“Guys, guys,” Morgan raises his hand to quiet them. “It’s obviously the control thing. Have you ever seen Hotch stand down with anyone? I haven’t.”

They all laugh, Hotch included, and then Garcia shakes her empty wine glass in Rossis general direction and JJ says, “Talking about taking control. What about dessert? I was promised tiramisu, the real deal even!”

Hotch volunteers to help Rossi get it and that’s that. He feels a little relieved the game ended and a little disappointed. He wonders what would have happened if they’d guessed it.

Later, as the night is winding down, Aaron’s coming back from the bathroom and bumps into Reid in the hallway. 

They stand there for a moment, in the half dark, dimly lit hallway, paintings lining the wall, the smell of dinner still heavy in the air.

Then Reid says, “So, tell me about that time you lost Jack at a mall. Because I know for a fact you would never cheat at anything.”

Hotch laughs quietly. Something flutters in his belly, a feeling like Reid sees right through him. 

It’s not unpleasant.

“You know, I looked away for a second, maybe two--,” he says, a faint smile on his lips as he remembers what was objectively the worst fifteen minutes of his life. But it all ended up fine and he likes talking about Jack with Reid.

Spencer listens intently, his eyes never leaving Hotch’s face.

+++

It’s almost midnight and Aaron stands in front of the apartment door. He takes a breath, he’s nervous, he’s questioning himself, but he ends up knocking anyway.

Spencer opens and Aaron watches the emotions run across his face: Surprise, concern, realization and then calm.

“Come in,” Reid says and Hotch follows him in.

Reid’s apartment is comfortably lived in, shelves in a controlled state of chaos. It’s warm and smells like some kind of herbal tea.

Aaron sits on the couch, feels slightly out of place in his suit.

Spencer walks around behind him, takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. He’s wearing a sweater and sweatpants. His socks don’t match.

“So what brings you here?” he finally says, when Aaron’s quiet.

“I think you know,” Aaron says quietly and smiles softly.

Reid answers his smile, “Yes. But I need you to say it.”

Hotch feels his heart pound, but there’s no backing out now. He’d spent the last couple of nights thinking about Reid and what he’d offered, what it meant.

And yes, Hotch had said no, but the thought had wormed itself into his brain. He’d remembered all those times it felt good, more than good, for someone to make the decisions for him, take charge of his ever-moving thoughts and focus them.

He was just surprised, when he realized it was Reid. But the more he thought about it the less surprising it was. 

Spencer had always known just how to bypass his defenses, because theirs were so similar. For Spencer his shield was knowledge, for Aaron it was his job. 

“I want--,” he swallows, rubs his fingers together, realizes he’s doing it and stops. 

Spencer moves closer, puts his hand on Aaron’s thigh. He squeezes.

“I want you to take me to bed. Tie me down. Fuck me. And--and take control.”

Spencer’s hand on Aaron’s thigh is a solid weight and now that the words are out Hotch feels more calm already.

Spencer’s eyes are on him, that look again, like he’s seeing all of Aaron laid bare. “Alright, yeah,” he says. “We will have to have a longer conversation about this later, I think, but for now I think we’ll be alright with a safe word and what your no-gos are. The rest can wait.”

Aaron’s not new to any of it, after Haley, after all of that, he took his time to explore and figure himself out. Something he should’ve done years ago.

So he _does_ know what to tell Spencer, but it’s the kind of honesty he’s not used to, open and vulnerable. 

“The safe word-- _my_ safe word is lawyer,” which earns him a small smile from Spencer. “As for your other question, I, ah, don’t like being blindfolded. It’s--not my thing,” he finishes slowly, because there’s losing control on purpose and then there’s not being able to see and he has a hard time articulating why that is so difficult for him.

Spencer’s hand has moved up his thigh, still squeezing. “Good,” he says, voice soft, “Also, just so you know, I’d prefer it if you talked to me. I like feedback,” and he smiles a little self-deprecatingly. 

Aarpn opens his mouth to say something to that, but Reid stops him by leaning in for a kiss.

It’s nothing like Aaron expected, sweet and tentative. He feels his heart rate pick up, curls his hand around Reid’s on his thigh. Spencer opens his mouth under his, tongue sliding against Aaron’s slow and easy, taking his time. 

When they break apart they’re both breathing heavily and Aaron regrets that they didn’t do this a lot sooner. At the same time, the other thoughts crowd in again: What if this is a mistake? What if Spencer can’t give him what he needs? What will they do at work? Hotch is still his boss, so what if--

“Aaron,” Spencer’s voice is sure, but there’s an edge to it now and Aaron’s mind snaps back to the moment, here, on Spencer’s couch. 

Spencer gives him a calculating look and then his hand moves from Aaron’s thigh to the bulge in his pants. 

Spencer squeezes his dick and Aaron’s breath catches. For one long moment all his thoughts fade and all he can focus on is Spencer squeezing his dick lightly, his long fingers delicately wrapped around the outline of his cock.

Spencer leans close to Aaron’s ear, breath tickling the skin there. “Aaron. I want you to go take a shower. Take your time. You’ll find towels in the cupboard under the sink. And then come find me in the bedroom.”

Aaron nods, but is reluctant to get up, not until Spencer takes his hand away, puts some distance between them on the couch. 

“Now, Aaron.” 

Aaron’s surprised at himself when he does as he’s told without thinking twice about it.

+++

Spencer’s bathroom is minimalist, compared to the rest of the apartment and free of clutter. 

Aaron undresses quickly, neatly folds his clothes and leaves them on a pile on a shelf by the door. He tries to ignore his half-hard cock, puts the shower on the hottest setting he can bear and steps inside.

For a few moments, he loses himself completely in the moment, scrubbing himself clean in Spencer’s shower.

Then his mind helpfully reminds him _why_ he is showering and where he is and that Spencer’s waiting for him in his bedroom. Aaron’s hand stutters where he’s mindlessly rubbing his chest clean and wanders to his dick.

He’s tempted to touch his dick, just a few strokes, because suddenly the ache low in his belly is all he can think about. Spencer’s voice echoes in his ear, but Aaron’s always had a hard time obeying orders, so what, Spencer wouldn’t know.

Except, he would. And wasn’t this the whole point of Aaron overthinking, pacing in his house just hours ago and then deciding to just jump, try this, whatever this might turn out to be.

His hand falls away and for a moment Aaron stands in the spray of the shower and wills his heartbeat to slow.

The silence is like a blanket once the shower’s off and Aaron strains to hear any sounds from outside the bathroom, but there’s nothing. 

He wraps a towel around his hips, runs a hand through his wet hair and then opens the bathroom door.

+++

He finds Spencer’s bedroom at the end of the hall. When Aaron steps inside, Spencer’s on the bed, back against the headboard. 

He’s reading a book, something by Dostoyevsky. He’s still in his sweats, but he’s taken off his sweater, soft t-shirt underneath, his feet are bare. He doesn’t look up, when Aaron comes into the room and closes the door behind himself.

It’s warm inside and yet Aaron shivers. There’s only the light of the small lamp on the bedside table, but Aaron feels exposed, vulnerable. It’s new and not an altogether unpleasant sensation, he realizes.

“Take off the towel,” Spencer says without looking up from his book.

Aaron takes in a sharp breath, but he does as he’s told. 

He carefully drapes the towel over a chair by the door and then stands there, unsure what to do with his hands, painfully aware of his rapidly hardening dick, straining up toward his belly.

There’s another moment of silence, where all Aaron can hear is his own breathing. He watches Spencer, the way his long fingers trace over the lines in the book, wholly engrossed with his reading. 

His eyes trail along Spencer’s body, snag on his crotch and yeah, okay, maybe Spencer isn’t as unaffected by this as he seems to be. Aaron feels the heat of that realization spread across his chest. 

Then his eyes catch on something else. 

There is something tied to the headboard behind Spencer, two delicate black ropes that hang down behind his back. They look soft, but solid, and Aaron lets out something between a whimper and a breath. 

He _did_ ask for this, but seeing it, is an entirely different matter. His thoughts race away from him to all the things Spencer might do to him, all the possibilities within the realm of what he asked for.

The feeling that spreads through him is a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension. Underneath it all is the quiet realization that whatever Spencer chooses to do, Aaron will accept it and see where it leads them. The thought calms something deep inside him, the caged control freak trying to take over.

“Look at you,” Spencer says and when Aaron’s eyes meet his, he realizes Spencer has been watching him, gauging his reaction. 

Aaron tries to see what Spencer sees, the way he’s standing in the middle of the room, shoulders defiantly squared to counter the fact that he’s trying very hard not to squirm under that gaze, heart hammering in his chest at the thrill that for once he doesn’t know what’s next, because unlike before, when he was husband, and after that late-night-fling, it’s not his decision to make.

Spencer gently closes his book and puts it on the nightstand next to some condoms and lube that Aaron’s only just now noticing. When he gets up, his shirt rides up a little, exposing a patch of pale skin.

Spencer walks right up to Aaron but stops short of touching him. He takes Aaron in from up close, eyes trailing over Aaron’s skin like a physical touch, before he gently wraps his hand around the back of Aaron’s neck.

His long fingers are warm and comforting and Aaron automatically leans in for the kiss he wants, expects, but Spencer easily holds him in place, keeping the distance between them, “Not just yet.”

Aaron makes a noise that he would probably be embarrassed by any other time. 

Spencer tilts his head a little, tips of his fingers digging into the soft skin of Aaron’s neck. “Go lie down on the bed, Aaron. On your back.”

Aaron nods and for one painful moment Spencer’s fingers tighten around the back of his neck, before Aaron remembers what he’d said earlier about talking and feedback and he says, “Yeah, okay,” in a voice that is rough in his own ears.

“Good,” Spencer says and something about the simple praise sparks heat in Aaron.

He walks to Spencer’s bed and easily lies down, slides back against the cushions, soft and slightly warm against his back. He pulls on one of the ropes and lets it run through his hand almost, soft whisper of it against his skin, tugs experimentally on it and feels the resistance of the knot around the headboard.

“Aaron.” He looks up at Spencer, eyes wide and dark. The bulge in Spencer’s pants is more noticeable now, standing just next to the bed. “I’m going to tie you up now, okay?”

Aaron nods before Spencer has even finished talking, then remembers he needs to say it. “Yes, I--,” he licks his lips, “please.” 

He sounds needy to his own ears, but he’s resolved to be honest and there’s nothing he wants more now than to give up what little control he has left.

Spencer nods, almost to himself, then he comes to Aaron, the bed dips under him and then he’s straddling him, Aaron’s dick curving up between them. 

Spencer gives Aaron another moment to object, when he stays quiet Spencer leans forward and grabs the rope from his hand. 

“Let’s stick with just your hands this time. I will do a knot that is easy to undo, so if, at any time, you’re starting to feel uncomfortable let me know.” 

Aaron has a hard time concentrating beyond the words _this time_ , implying there will be more and he doesn’t quite know why the thought thrills him so much, but he manages to say, “Yes.”

Spencer’s fingers on his wrist are warm and sure, deftly tying a knot around his wrist. He tests the way the rope lies against Aaron’s skin, almost but not quite too tight, then he does the same to Aaron’s other hand. 

The fluttery touch of Spencer’s fingers on his wrists is intimate in a way Aaron can’t quite comprehend. He has to close his eyes, tries his best not to rub against Spencer on top of him, tries to patiently wait for what’s next.

“There. All done. I like how still you’re keeping for me.” There’s that proud tone in Spencer’s voice again and it does something to Aaron, that voice, the praise and he opens his eyes, not quite meeting Spencer’s gaze

Aaron carefully pulls on the ropes, hears the soft flutter of them sliding against Spencer’s wooden headboard. There’s a tight pull against his wrists and he can feel the muscles in his arms work, strain against the resistance.

Aaron swallows heavily and looks up at Spencer who watches him intently, waiting.

“I--,” Aaron clears his throat, “would you take off your--ah--shirt?” Normally, he would not hesitate to do it himself, but he can’t now and feels oddly shy to request it like that. 

He’s never been a big talker in bed and it’s strangely difficult to verbalize what he wants.

Spencer gives him a soft smile, seems to think about it and then decides in Aaron’s favor, pulls the shirt off and throws it aside.

Aaron hungrily takes it all in, finely shaped muscles working under Spencer’s skin as he evenly breathes in and out. 

The urge to touch is almost overwhelming and the thrill of not being able to do it make Aaron’s hips twitch up, up against Spencer and the shape of his cock in his sweatpants. 

Spencer puts a steadying hand on Aaron’s stomach, fingers splayed over the scars there, holding him in place just like the ropes, but his hips meet Aaron’s, soft slow brushes of fabric against the hot skin of his dick. 

It’s not enough friction by far, but better than nothing and Aaron wants it all, impatient to have Spencer naked and on top of him and also ready to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Tell me what you want, Aaron.”

He hesitates, but there it is, crystal clear in his mind. “I want to suck you off.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at that, but Aaron can see it in his eyes, the dark heat there, threatening to overtake everything, but it’s only for a moment and then, just like that, Spencer has himself under control again.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that,” he says evenly, but his voice catches on the last word.

“No, I want to try. It’s--I can’t stop thinking about it.” He meets Spencer’s gaze without shying away and eventually Spencer nods.

He gets up from the bed, carefully slips away from where he was straddling Aaron. 

He strips quickly and efficiently and then just stands there, comfortable in his own skin, lets Aaron look for a long moment, taking it all in, the leanness of his body, soft hair trailing down his stomach to where his cock is nestled between his legs, hard and thick.

Spencer doesn’t ask him again if he’s sure. He moves back onto the bed, easily spreads his legs over Aaron’s chest, no hesitation and it takes Aaron’s breath away to see him open up like that.

Carefully, Spencer settles his weight on Aaron’s chest, legs pushing down his upper arms. He watches Aaron’s face closely, moves around until he’s satisfied Aaron can comfortably still breathe like this. 

He tilts his body down to Aaron and his dick is right there, just out of reach. 

Aaron strains, tries to move closer, but Spencer pushes him back gently with a hand on his throat.

“Listen. You won’t be able to use the safeword, so take this,” a soft tap on his knuckles, where Aaron had unconsciously curled them into a fist, and he opens his hand willingly. 

Spencer slips a small object into it and Aaron closes his fingers around it. “It’s a die. Just--if you need me to stop, drop that and it’ll work just like the safeword. Okay?” 

Aaron nods, breathless now and Spencer allows the slipup. 

“Okay,” he says, this time more to himself than to Aaron.

He curls his fingers around his cock, slowly leans closer, touches the slick tip to Aaron’s lips and he parts them obediently, takes in just the tip and sucks, tongue curling around the head, tasting Spencer.

Spencer makes a small noise in the back of his throat and braces himself against the headboard with his other hand. 

Aaron feels the strain it takes for Spencer to go slow, dick nudging Aaron’s lips wider apart.

He relaxes his jaw, easy slide of his tongue along Spencer’s dick. 

It’s a slow, shallow rhythm and Aaron gets lost in it, slick, warm weight of Spencer’s dick in his mouth, the smell of him, the little sharp breaths he takes, his hand curled around his dick, fingers sliding against Aaron’s spit-slick lips.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Spencer says, voice low, hair falling in his face from where he’s looking down at Aaron.

Aaron hums around Spencer’s dick and for a moment Spencer loses the movement, jerks forward, dick sliding deep into Aaron’s mouth who makes a small choking noise. 

Spencer pulls back immediately, searches Aaron’s face and then does it again, fucks deeper into Aaron’s mouth, watches him choke on it a litte, Spencer’s eyes flickering to Aaron’s closed hand, but Aaron holds on tightly to the die.

It’s almost too much, the sensation of Spencer everywhere, holding him down with his legs digging into the softness of Aaron’s arms, the way he smells, musky and warm, his dick sliding into Aaron’s open mouth, the way the ropes keep sliding relentlessly against his skin. 

He feels the ache deep in his balls and whines before he can hold it back. 

He wants this, but he also wants to be touched too, wants Spencer to fuck him open, has to blink several times to get back to himself and find Spencer’s eyes.

Spencer’s hips stutter and he guides his dick into Aaron’s mouth, once, twice, before he pulls away with a wet obscene sound.

Aaron watches him intently as Spencer squeezes his dick, takes a deep steadying breath. 

“I think I’m ready to fuck you now,” Spencer says and Aaron groans, voice shot and rough.

Spencer moves down his body and for a moment Aaron feels light, like he could float away, weight from his arms and chest gone, strangely bereft now that Spencer is not bodily holding him down. 

He’s so lost in the sensation, he only realizes that Spencer has plucked the die from his hand and placed it on the nightstand with a slight delay.

Spencer picks up the lube, slicks his fingers, nudges Aaron’s legs apart and then the he feels the tip of Spencer’s finger, there, against his hole, wet and warm and insistent, circling and then Spencer pushes in, in, so slow and careful it makes Aaron ache for more.

“You don’t have to be careful, just--” his voice trails off, but Spencer ignores him, takes his time, slowly fucks him open with just one finger, not nearly enough, barely enough friction. 

“Please, Spencer, I need--,” Spencer curls a hand around his hip in response, holds him still, but he adds a second finger, dripping with lube, crooks his fingers just so inside Aaron, rubs against that spot and Aaron jerks against him.

He doesn’t care how it makes him look, mindlessly struggles against the hold Spencer has on his hip, tries to get more friction. 

Spencer’s hand is hard on his hip, probably leaving bruises and Aaron half hopes that they will be there for a few days. He can already feel the ache in his shoulders, his arms, where he’s straining against the ropes.

He will definitely feel this and he chases that feeling, wants all of this to leave marks, pressed into his skin.

Spencer adds a third finger, spreads him open, easy movement of his wrist faster now, more urgent and Aaron can’t focus but he’s pretty sure that’s his voice saying _yes_ and _fuck_ and _more_ and _now_.

The sound of the condom wrapper seems impossibly loud in his ears and he watches the small frown of concentration crease Spencer’s forehead, before he leans forward and over Aaron, bends one of Aaron’s legs back against his chest.

The feel of Spencer’s dick against his hole sends a shudder through Aaron’s body and he moans, low in the back of his throat. He can feel Spencer watch him again, like he’s looking for something.

And then Spencer pushes inside, one smooth long stroke, not waiting for Aaron to adjust, setting a rhythm, something between sweet and painful, faster than he was with his fingers, so relentless and focused that it makes Aaron’s mind short out. 

All he feels is Spencer holding himself up over him, his dick opening him up, hitting the spot inside him over and over and Aaron’s done this a couple of times, but never like this and he thinks he could come just from Spencer fucking into him, biting his lip, focused but still all there, open and alert to every single one of Aaron’s sounds and movements.

He wraps his hands around the ropes, lets the solidness of them ground him and just takes it, all of it, clenching tight around Spencer’s dick. 

Spencer leans down, his lips on Aaron’s, feathery soft, licking into his mouth, tasting himself there.

Then Spencer grabs Aaron’s dick, hard, starts jerking him roughly in time to his thrusts and all of a sudden Aaron can taste the orgasm, like electricity through his body, feels it slide just under his skin.

Spencer’s hand on his dick is slick, soft but callused and he knows just how to touch Aaron, sharp twist of his wrist on the upstroke, squeezing him tight down at the root of his dick and it’s too much and not enough and before Aaron can say anything he’s coming undone under Spencer’s touch, body straining against him.

Spencer barely loses the rhythm, fucks him through it, relentless and sharp thrust, his balls slapping against Aaron’s ass. His hold on Aaron’s dick is sure and he jerks him through it until Aaron’s softening in his palm.

Aaron barely has time to catch his breath, when Spencer moves faster, fucks into him hard and without concern. The sensation is almost too much, his dick dragging against Aaron’s prostate again and again. 

Spencer lets Aaron’s dick slip from his fingers, braces himself on Aaron’s chest instead, hand splayed and a solid weight on Aaron’s skin, holding him in place as Spencer uses him and then Spencer’s hips lose all rhythm and he comes with a quiet moan, eyes closed, dick jerking inside of Aaron until he’s spent, slick slide of his dick inside Aaron.

Spencer stills, opens his eyes and Aaron can still feel him inside, his dick and his come and he can feel his own cock twitch in response, too sensitive to do more now, but Aaron aches for it, would go again if he could.

Maybe Spencer can read his thoughts, because there’s the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He pulls back and out, expertly ties the condom and throws it in the general direction of the trashcan in the corner, leans back on his heels.

Aaron feels calm in a way he can’t quite describe, muscles slack and aching. For a while he just lies there, come pooling on his belly and watches Spencer watch him.

“Would you like me to untie you?” Spencer finally breaks the silence and his voice is deep, full of something Aaron can’t quite name.

He almost, _almost_ , says no, even though his wrists are beginning to hurt now that the adrenaline is bleeding away, dull throb of pain spreading along his arms. 

Finally, he says, “Yes.”

Spencer efficiently undoes the ropes, slips Aaron’s wrists out of the loops and carefully pulls his arms down and then stretches out on the bed next to Aaron, on his back, breathing still a little heavy, warm weight of him dipping the bed slightly.

Staring up at the ceiling of Spencer’s bedroom Aaron realizes his mind is extraordinarily blank, calm in a way he hasn’t experienced in some time. 

It’s weird, he had expected at least a minor freakout or the insistent need to plan, discuss and dissect the next steps.

Instead, he rolls his right wrist a little, opens and closes his fingers and enjoys the heaviness spreading through his body.

Eventually, Spencer rolls into his side, pillows his head on Aaron’s chest and from one moment to the next he slides back into himself, soft, playful Spencer, hardness from earlier gone.

“How do you do that? Switch like that?” Aaron asks before he can stop himself.

Against his chest, Spencer shrugs. “I don’t. I’m always both.”

“Oh,” Aaron says and thinks of a heavy hand on his shoulder, fingers against his neck, Spencer who finishes his reports, gets him food, calms him down. 

Always both.

Spencer blindly gropes for Aaron’s hand by the side of his body and pulls it to his face, inspects the slight indentations from the rope that have been left there, before he carefully starts stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of Aaron’s wrist, slow, rhythmic movement that is like a blanket of quiet over Aaron’s thoughts.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” he says, voice carefully neutral, but Aaron can hear the layers of questions underneath it nevertheless.

“Oh, definitely,” he says and can feel Spencer laugh, relieved and warm against his naked chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what keeps me coming back to the Dom!Reid and sub!Hotch dynamic, but I feel very deeply that sometimes Hotch just needs someone to top him. And Reid is totally up for it, seriously.
> 
> This took me a while and is sort of different from what I usually write, so I would be really happy, if you liked it enough to leave me a comment and help me to feel less insecure about it. Thank you!


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